Kitty leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. “He doesn’t realize you’re mocking him.”
“Of course not,” I muttered back. “This Lady Catherine of his wouldn’t allow it.”
Lydia turned again, already scanning the horizon. “But speaking of respectable men, we’re bound to find Mr. Denny in town, and maybe thathandsomeofficer too!”
“Ah, yes,” I sighed. “The officer whose name you’ve forgot but whose face you remember all too well. When did you see this mythical being?”
Lydia giggled. “Two days ago, Lizzy, when you were wasting away at Netherfield. And who cares for names when the face is so agreeable?”
Kitty’s gasp interrupted any further debate. “Look!” she cried, pointing ahead. “There he is now!”
Sure enough, a man in a red coat was standing by the village shop, chatting amiably with Lieutenant Denny, one of Lydia’s favorites. The stranger had the easy posture of someone well accustomed to admiration—and the second he spotted us, his expression brightened into a smile that could have melted butter.
Lydia, never one to waste an opportunity, picked up her pace. “Denny!” she called, waving her hand as if they were the closest of friends.
“Good afternoon, Miss Lydia,” Lieutenant Denny replied with a grin. “I see you’ve brought company.” He turned to the man beside him and, with a conspiratorial wink, added, “May I introduce you to my friend, Lieutenant Wickham? He is newly arrived to our regiment.”
“Lieutenant Wickham,” Lydia repeated, her eyes shining with delight. “How wonderful to meet you!”
Mr. Wickham tipped his hat with an air of practiced smoothness. “The pleasure is mine, I assure you.”
I studied him for a moment, noting the ease with which he carried himself. There was something undeniably charmingabout him, and I could see that Lydia and Kitty were both already smitten.
“And how are you finding Meryton, Mr. Wickham?” I asked, feeling the need to break up the ridiculous display of girlish infatuation from my younger sisters.
“Quite well, I must say,” he replied. “It seems a lively little town. And, of course, I can already state with absolute certainty that the company is excellent.”
Lydia giggled, and I had to suppress an eye roll. It was all too easy to see why they were taken with him—he was every bit as affable as Mr. Bingley but with the added allure of a uniform.
Before I could formulate a proper response, the unmistakable sound of hooves approached, and I turned just in time to see Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy riding toward us.
“Good afternoon, Miss Bennet!” Mr. Bingley called as he approached, his face lighting up. “And Miss Elizabeth! A fine day for a walk, is it not?”
I inclined my head politely. “It is, indeed, Mr. Bingley.”
Mr. Darcy, however, said nothing, his gaze locked firmly on Lieutenant Wickham. The temperature between the two of them seemed to drop at least ten degrees. Mr. Darcy’s expression, never particularly warm, now looked positively icy.
I stole a glance at the lieutenant, curious to see how he’d react to the arrival of our most enigmatic guest. Darcy was perfectly cracked, but I was the only one who ever seemed to notice.
The change in his demeanor was subtle but unmistakable. Wickham’s easy smile faltered for just a moment, and his gaze darkened as he locked eyes with Mr. Darcy. For his part, Darcy’s posture stiffened immediately, his jaw tightening as if he’d been hit by a sudden chill.
The two men stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, though not a word was spoken. The way they were glaring ateach other, you’d think someone had stolen the last biscuit at tea.
Mr. Bingley, unaware of the silent battle being waged beside him, waved cheerfully at us. “I am terribly delighted to see you about and well again, Miss Bennet. I trust your parents are also well?”
Jane smiled warmly and made some polite answer, but I could barely focus on the pleasantries. My gaze flickered between Wickham and Darcy, both of whom seemed frozen in place. It was like a staring contest where neither man realized there wasn’t a prize.
And then, something snapped. Without a word, Darcy turned his horse and rode on, Bingley casting a confused look between us before following.
As they disappeared down the road, I finally exhaled—apparently, I’d forgotten how to breathe for the past minute. My heart wasn’t pounding from the walk; it was more the realization that whatever history those two had could probably fuel an entire three-act play.
Mr. Wickham, for his part, seemed to brush it off. He turned back to us with that same charming smile, though I noticed the grimace hadn’t entirely left his face.
“Well, ladies,” he said, all charm as if nothing at all had happened, “I trust the rest of your afternoon will be just as pleasant.”
“Of course,” I replied, though my brain was practically doing cartwheels.
What had just passed between those two? And why did Mr. Darcy look like he was about to combust the moment he saw Wickham?
